


Being Back, Going Back

by melanch0licpumpkin



Category: 13 Reasons Why (TV)
Genre: Angst, Hurt, Hurt Justin Foley, M/M, Other, just a sweet injured boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-12-09 07:20:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20990993
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melanch0licpumpkin/pseuds/melanch0licpumpkin
Summary: Justin is trying to reintegrate into his old life and make Bryce pay for what he did, but can he really do anything?





	Being Back, Going Back

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a write-up of a scene from episode 8 of season two with some of my own interpretations of Justin and the exchange he shares with Bryce, as well as his emotions and thought process throughout that led him to relapse. It's just pure angst, really. I love Justin's character and wanted to write this out.

Being back felt worse than he thought it would. He walked the halls, permanent scowl on his face, as people gawked at him as if he were some type of zoo animal. They spoke in hushed tones as he passed, whispering whatever fucked up shit they thought he was into. The worst part was, they were probably right in what they were talking about. Living on the streets, being who he was, it was fucked up. He was fucked up. His clothes didn’t fit right. His shoulders slumped in a way that made him look broken and defeated. He wasn’t the same person anymore, and he couldn’t identify where he fit in. It was hard to believe he had ever had a place here at all. The longer he stayed walking these halls, the worse his urge felt. He wanted nothing more, he thought about nothing more, than to give himself over to the only thing that ever made him feel right. But he knew it was wrong. He had to keep his shit together. For Hannah. For Jessica. For Clay. Maybe for himself, too.

Justin exited the bathroom after he heard the bell ring, having skipped his Chemistry class for no real reason other than the fact that he just didn’t want to be there. As he walked, he saw the form of Bryce Walker anxiously and quietly speaking into his locker, a phone to his ear. No matter how many times he saw that face, it never got any easier. So many emotions stormed through him, almost all of them associated with anger and hatred - almost all.

“Well can’t you tell Warren to handle it faster? It’s a shitshow around here,” Bryce hissed into his phone before glancing to his side, his expression unreadable as he gazed at Justin, who stood a few lockers away, glaring at him. Bryce seemed to register something before saying, “I… Hey, I gotta go.” He hung up the phone and turned to face Justin fully, his brows knit together.

“I heard your confession.” Justin spat, his voice steady and his heart beating hard. Somehow (read: Clay), Hannah’s tapes were leaked to the media, and Bryce was damn right to call it a shitshow. There was the addition of Clay getting the shit beat out of him while Bryce basically admitted to raping Hannah. The thought made him grind his teeth, wishing he could grab Bryce by the shirt and kick the shit out of him.

“You feeling okay, brother? You didn’t look so good the other day.” He completely ignored what Justin had said, going for his vulnerability immediately. Justin knew Byrce’s tactics well, but that didn’t stop them from penetrating the wall he had been trying so hard to keep up. The word, ‘brother,’ provoked a lurching sensation in his stomach. Bryce always acted as if he cared, but he didn’t. **Bryce didn’t fucking care.** _Why does that have to hurt so fucking much?_

Justin squared his shoulders, “You’re going down, Bryce.”

Bryce let out a breath and took a step, closing the distance between them, “How do you see that happening, exactly? Without you going with me?”

“I will do whatever I have to, to make you fucking pay.” And it was true. Justin would do this, no matter if it put him in harm’s way. It was the least he could do. He could never take back what he did, and what he didn’t do, but he would try to make up for it. If that meant pressing the eject button on himself, then he’d fucking do it.

Bryce’s eyes flashing maliciously, his mask slipping, “I’m not gonna pay for a goddamn thing, Justin. I’ve got a legal team working for me around the clock. I’ve got state fucking senators that will talk about what a fine citizen I am. What have you got?” Bryce relished in these words, “A junkie mom and a deadbeat dad? Oh, shit, that’s right. You don’t even know your dad, do you? You never met the guy. You’re just a white trash piece of shit, Justin. Nobody’s gonna listen to your truth.”

Justin was winded as Bryce targeted every weak spot he could, words sharp and his voice hard. He knew exactly what to say to hurt him, and Justin could tell that Bryce liked it. His former best friend bore into him, “Nobody in this world gives a shit about you. You’ve got nothing and nobody.” The words tore through him as Bryce bent down to pick up his backpack, a lump in his throat developing as the older boy walked away without another word. The seeds were planted. Now they grow.

Justin blinked, willing himself not to react, willing the tears in his eyes not to fall. He would not allow Bryce to break him, he couldn’t. He looked down the hall, his eyes resting on Jessica, who was looking at him in a way Justin could only register as hate. As he looked at her, he was devoid of the warmth and comfort he once felt whenever he saw her. It just felt cold now. Her words echoed in his head as she walked away, “I wish you were dead.”

_Yeah, Jess, me too._

\---

Sitting in Clay Jensen’s room as he tightly wound the rubber strip around his bicep felt a bit surreal. He spent a horrible weekend detoxing here, puking his brains out, shivering and begging, sweating and crying, and he was about to undo all of that. He wanted to be strong, he wanted to be brave, but he just couldn’t do it. He knew at his core that he wanted to get high more than he wanted to help, and that shame just further urged him to inject himself with the only thing that would make it stop hurting. He didn’t want to replay those words in his head anymore. He didn’t want to feel his heart being obliterated anymore. He didn’t want to keep acknowledging that the friendship he thought he had, the most important and meaningful relationship he’d ever had, was a fucking lie. He was not meaningful to anyone.

He hardly winced as the needle broke through his skin and into the vein, the effect immediate and intense. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head as his body collapsed onto the bed, his breath heavy as the sweet relief spread itself throughout him. Nothing could touch him now. Nothing would hurt. Everything blurred at the edges, and as the darkness engulfed him, he thought vaguely how he wouldn’t really mind if he never woke up again. He knew no one else would, either.


End file.
